Guardians of wastelands. A nuclear priesthood. -Peter Galison

As Galvin Miller wrote in a review of Rouch’s Chronicle of a Summer, “It has as its aim not ‘truth’ but the many truths out of which a picture of reality can be built.”

I made a joke: "You guys should start a tooth pick factory with those thorn bushes." Later I knelt to take a photograph of a girl enacting her vision of environmental disaster and one of those thorns slid inside me, behind my right patella, above the top of my femur. I pulled it out. The taxi driver said spirits would help. I fainted. And for weeks I wondered if I still had a piece stuck in me.

It was a sunny day. I wasn't sure where we were going. We stopped at his friend's home but she had locked herself inside. He had to talk to her through the bars.

The make-shift safari car with a top that opened like a sardine can broke down and I thought an elephant might get us.